BEFRIENDING OUR PAIN
4 TIPS FROM FOUR LOKOS
Friendship after being assaulted is confusing.
Actually just about everything after being assaulted is confusing. The most confusing thing about it all, is you might not even be aware of how confusing it all is.
It wasn’t until later I could see how odd my behavior was. Why others might have treated me in certain ways. How I isolated myself all while feeling completely ostracized by others. It’s dizzying, really.
Looking back on my senior year of college, I see finger prints of my trauma response all over the place. I see it in the wake of broken relationships, the half-marathon I ran out of spite, the substance abuse that became a life line, and the promiscuous warpath on which I recklessly embarked.
What’s remarkable to me about this time period, was how I was subconsciously learning from my friends how to befriend this new traumatized version of myself. The me I used to be and the me I was were barely acquaintances after all. But we were certainly on a path screaming ahead towards the me I would become. What a frightening mystery that seemed to be.
I was unbearably disconnected from myself and therefore painfully impressionable. Even my outbursts with others were because deep down I was just as ashamed of and frustrated by myself as others were with me.
The friends who stuck with me through it all are people I will never let go of (good luck trying, suckers!). These friends taught me how to befriend myself, and that is an invaluable lesson.
Today I want to tell you a story about my friend, Kris, and how chugging some Four Lokos and crashing a party I was supposed to be hosting taught me how to befriend my pain.
FOUR LOKOS
My eyes watered, and I masked a carbonated burp. Compelling music played from my house around the corner, and Kris and I giggled as we slurped down our Four Lokos in my car.
My roommates and I were hosting a graduation party- prom style. But I didn’t feel like the host. I felt like the awkward plus one, invited out of obligation. I wanted to die before going to that party. But alas, I have the biggest case of FOMO in the world.
I would rather manage paralyzing social anxiety than potentially miss out on something. Tell me how that makes sense.
A few dear friends knew I was having a terrible time and were far enough removed from the everyday impact of my raging pain to lead with grace and compassion in their interactions with me.
Kris was one of these friends. I had vented to him about the party, and mentioned I might find somewhere else to go and “blow off steam.” He sat and listened to my angsty proclamations while I worked it out. As often happened in college, these honest feelings resulted in the only natural conclusion: let’s go buy some weird clothes from Savers, the thrift shop down the street. While we sorted through all the hilarious outfit choices, I admitted to Kris I would have to be drunk to make it through this party. At the time I thought I would have to be drunk to make it through just about anything.
And that’s how we somehow ended up in my car in the most uncomfortably hot attire chugging Four Lokos (mind you this felt like the most brazen act of rebellion I could choose, because we attended a school where we signed sobriety contracts- man, the hell we raised, ha!)
I chugged my Four Loko like a lifeline. Kris sipped his. I felt his eyes on me, cautiously watching me teeter-totter between spiral and rally.
Finally sweaty and rosy cheeked, I busted into the house and pretended like I was ready to have a great time. Kris followed, giving me space. He wasn’t clingy, but was always somehow in the room where I was. When I snuck off to my room to shoot the vodka I was hiding, he was casually the first to notice when I got back.
He laughed with me, danced like a fool with me, and took full advantage of the photo booth with me.
He wasn’t off in the corner offering me more booze, he wasn’t ready to burn the party down with me, but he was with me in the space where I was. He didn’t judge, he didn’t get dragged into my detonation mindset, he was just present. Without saying a word, he told me plain as day: I see you.
Watching people respond well to our pain teaches us how to respond well to it too.
In this interaction Kris modelled externally what I would eventually learn to do internally. It is possible to acknowledge our feelings, fears and frustrations without giving into them. In fact I think it is in compassionately acknowledging our pain that we diffuse it and make it manageable.
FOUR TIPS
When I am feeling hopeless, angry, rattled, I’ve gotta sit with it. I look my big scary emotions in the eye and sip on my drink while they chug theirs. I let them rear up and be ugly and say the crazy things while I listen to them, watchful and curious.
At a safe minimum distance, I observe my feelings in the raw without condemning or abandoning them. I take notice as they come and go.
I let them exist honestly, and do my honest best to give pause before expressing them. We can give our explosive feelings space without immediately accepting their invitation for melodrama. I’m compassionate and recognize their validity. And as they settle, I make room for them.
Like a wave, feelings come at us hard. They build and build and build. At their peak it feels like they could drown us. But then the wave crashes, and the feelings pass. They do not last forever.
In those moments when they build, befriend them. Give them space, tell them you see them and treat them with compassion.
It’s true: we all get by with a little help from our friends. So maybe it’s time we learn how to add our own name to that list of friends.
Here are 4 tips for befriending the valid emotions that make us feel and act loco (we can call these my Four Loko tips):
Tell them (audibly if you can) you see them.
Acknowledge why they are there and remind yourself they are valid feelings.
Even though it feels like a lie, repeat the mantra, “this feeling isn’t forever.”
Keep an eye on them. Watch where these feelings take you throughout your day. Without judgement, without shame. Give them a safe place to get it out.
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